


Twisting the Knife

by Reyanth



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 04:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8235749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyanth/pseuds/Reyanth
Summary: A short flash of insight into what's really in a name and why this rose has such biting thorns.





	

“Oi, get up off your lazy ass, _Misaki_.”

There it was again, that irrational maelstrom of emotion that raged inside of him every damn time.

_One long, elegant knuckle curled into a bit between lips and teeth as his breath hitched beautifully and a strangled sound squeaked from his throat. He always looked so beyond sexy it was fucking painful to watch when he was this close to the edge._

_Yata wanted so badly to kiss him as they both crashed head-first into ecstasy but he held back, knowing that what he really wanted, more than anything, was to hear the name that would tumble from those flushed, red lips. Kisses there were aplenty, but words were precious, and none more precious than…_

_“Fuck.” Not that! Although, the way he swore around his knuckle was pretty erotic in its own right. The finger fell from his lips, then, his limp hand hitting the floor as his whole body went lax under Yata’s rapid thrusts in preparation for the violent seizing of muscles that was to come. “I’m gonna… Fuck!_ Misaki _!”_

“Ooooiii. _Miiisaaaakiiii_.”

It didn’t matter that his hand and parts of his arm were so bruised they felt broken, nor that he was so exhausted he could barely grasp onto the hyper-reality of the conscious world; his palm shrunk in on itself, curling into a reactionary fist against the concrete.

Anything but that name.

_The joy bubbling up in him was stupid and childish—the instinctive reaction of any rug rat with an untold surprise hiding under layers of lame wrapping paper. Joyful he was, anyway._

_Saruhiko didn’t like presents. Not on birthdays, or Christmas, or any other special occasion. Today was no such event, and yet, the little wrapped box in his hands looked suspiciously like a present. His fingers twitched with the urge to tear at the wrapping but he was immobilized by the adorable little fat-cheeked monkeys capering about on it._

_“It’s not gonna explode, is it?” he asked nervously, wondering what the catch was._

_“Idiot.”_

_“But you never give me presents.”_

_“Why wou-… Present? It’s not a present.”_

_He looked down at the monkey-wrapped box with the little red bow and tried to figure out in what way this could possibly deviate from the accepted definition of the word “present.”_

_“Don’t make such a big deal of things. I just saw it and thought it was cool, and they wrapped it up when I said it was for someone else. Jeez, this is why I hate-”_

_“Can I open it?”_

_“-things like… Huh? The fuck are you even waiting for?”_

_The monkeys were reluctant to give up their prize without a fight, and Yata was sad for the little tears that ruined what had almost been a perfect un-wrapping near the end of the ordeal, but then there was a container of little white cardboard just begging to be plucked open._

_Usually, expectations run rampant in the mind in those moments before the revealing of a present. Maybe it was that you really, really wanted a certain thing, or maybe that you just really wanted confirmation that your partner knew you well enough to pick just the right gift. A pang of disappointment when the imagined contents differ from the reality is natural. Except, Yata didn’t have any expectations. He was just thrilled that the cheap-ass band of red rubber came to him in a little box covered in monkeys, from Saruhiko’s own pocket._

_Then he saw the curvaceous white writing on it, scrawling out one of the rare combinations of romaji letters he recognized on sight._

_～_ Misaki～

_“We have to get you one,” he said right away, without thinking, before even expressing his gratitude or any of the other sentiments rapidly swelling in his chest._

_What he didn’t mention was that he had every intention of swapping them at the first excuse—and that was exactly what he did. That Saruhiko chose to conceal the red band around his ankle rather than openly sport it on his wrist was less important than his choice to wear it at all. For his part, Yata treasured the letters he eventually agreed to tuck away down by his own ankle that he had memorized spelled out “Saruhiko.”_

“Damn it, _Misaki_ , I’m not playing around here. You need to get up. Now.”

Before he had gathered the strength even to open his eyes, assess the inhibitions posed by his injuries, or form a response to the nagging voice, the solid repetition of that one word inspired a berserk rush that had him launching at Saruhiko and throwing his half-assed fist.

He had no control over his battered limbs and the punch swung wildly and barely glanced off the bastard’s shoulder. He was stumbling and momentum sent him straight into those familiar arms. He hated the familiarity. He hated that he hated anything about Saruhiko.

Fuck Saruhiko.

_“Hey,_ Misaki _, what do you want for dinner? We should probably use up some of this ramen. Why the hell did you even buy all this?”_

_“I don’t feel like ramen. There’s gyoza in the fridge.”_

_“_ Misaki _… If you’re not gonna eat it, don’t buy it. We’re having ramen. Deal with it.”_

_“Fine. But not the really spicy one. It gave me a stomach ache for half a day!”_

_“That was probably the soda you chugged down with it, you know…_ Misaki _…? Did you seriously waste money on mentaiko cheese flavor?”_

 _Scrunching up his face and pitching his voice high in parody, Yata sauntered up to his boyfriend and wound his arms under a messy fall of brown hair. “_ MisakiMisakiMisaki _～! Just shut up already!”_

_Even as he ensured that the deep kiss that followed would achieve that very end, Yata’s lips wouldn’t comply enough to lose the wide grin that had taken root. Had it really been so rare for Saru to call him by his name, once? Even if it didn’t pull his chest tight with emotion anymore, he still loved hearing it. That was why he’d never admit that to his boyfriend, or the perverse bastard would stop saying it altogether…_

“Oi, _Misaki_ , what the hell?”

“Fuck you,” he snarled, tilting his head up as easily as he had fallen unerringly into the last place he wanted to be.

The moment before their lips touched with a surprising absence of hesitation, he thought about how much he hated those stupidly red, traitorous buds, and then Saru’s tongue was down his throat and he couldn’t remember why he could ever hate anything about the guy he’d always been grudgingly in love with.


End file.
